


à quatre pattes

by havisham



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Backstory, Banter, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Chairs, Dogs, Exhibitionism, M/M, Magic, Resurrection, Threesome - M/M/M, Transformation, Voyeurism, skeleton hand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-26 22:09:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16689826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: Hector chases after Isaac, Isaac chases after Dracula, and Dracula lets himself be caught by them both.





	à quatre pattes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sath/gifts).



> Happy birthday, Sath! This is all your fault -- as well as all the glorious bastards of the Jojone.

Seven days he’d kept him hanging on an iron chain on the roof of the old castle in Styria, while carrion picked at his flesh. Hector was surrounded by the corpses of Carmilla’s followers, though she was nowhere to be seen. Isaac had killed her elsewhere, which was perfectly acceptable to Hector. 

It must have been magic that kept him alive. Hector had no idea how else it could be that, at the end of those seven days, Isaac brought him down and asked, “What have you learned, Hector?” 

Hector grinned, knowing he looked more like dead’s head mask than anything else. His time with Carmilla and now Isaac’s punishment had killed whatever beauty he had once possessed. It was a good thing that he had never been one for vanity. 

Well, except for the glove. 

“What should I say?” Hector replied back, his voice just a rasp of metal against stone. “I betrayed him and helped her. I have been punished in every way possible except with death. Will you give it to me, Isaac?” 

“If I killed you, I’d merely bring you back again. My anger isn’t abated by your suffering, however slight it is. You promised him your loyalty and your love. What did you give him?” 

Hector’s mouth was so dry that he couldn’t taste the blood. “Give me water. You can’t torment me further if I die of thirst.” 

Isaac dumped a skin bag of water on Hector’s face with a grunt of disgust. Hector moaned and drank as much as he could, letting the rest of it dribble down his face. This was the most pleasurable experience he’d had for -- he couldn’t remember anymore. It didn’t matter, it never mattered. 

“So,” he said, swallowing down the bitterly cold water as well as he could. “You ask me why I should betray the one I loved best?” 

“I don’t care for your reasons,” Isaac said, a lie if Hector had ever hear one. Once, he hadn’t been able to tell the difference between such things, but now he had learned to, by painful application. Carmilla lied. Isaac lied. Even Dracula lied to Hector, when it suited him to do so. 

Hector could lie too, if he wanted to. But he found that the truth almost always worked better. He gestured Isaac to come closer. No. Closer still. Never mind the stink of blood and rot. He breathed unsteadily against Isaac’s ear. “Remember when you asked if we could kiss like Benedictine monks from different monasteries?” 

“What of it?” 

“But were we not monks indeed, pledged to him and worshipping him? Our dark Messiah? How I prayed for him to come and fetch me back. Kill me for my betrayal, of course, but still bring me back to him. I waited for him crush mine and Carmilla’s hearts, drink down our blood. I waited for his complete vengeance. But he did not rise again. What a waste -- all of it. What a waste.” 

“You’ve gone mad,” Isaac said and there was pity in his voice. Isaac had always been soft on Hector, even when he thought he was being harsh -- like now. How ironic it was, that Isaac didn’t know that -- fatal flaw in their relationship. That Isaac didn’t know something that Hector did. 

Hector laughed. He was mad indeed. But it was nothing new. 

*

They were rivals -- unacknowledged, it was true, but rivals nonetheless. When Hector had been lured from his isolated life by Dracula’s promises of a new, kinder world, he had not been expecting to meet a man who had the same powers as he did. Unable to help it, Hector dropped his gaze to Isaac’s hands. But no, he did not wear any glove or covering. He forged with a knife, it seemed. 

“Can you show me how you do it?” Hector asked him at the first opportunity. Isaac eyed him with blatant dislike and Hector tried to pull back some of his eagerness. “I’m merely curious. I have a hammer that I work with it. But your way seems …” 

“Harder?” Isaac said drily, as he cut into the flesh of a night creature. Hector tilted his head, observing the snapping of ribs and the wet squish of flesh-cutting. Very different than ringing in infernal life into his creations. 

“Intimate, I was going to say,” he said, at last. 

“Were you,” Isaac replied, turning away so Hector would no longer be in his line of sight. 

“I can show you my way too, if you’d like,” Hector said hopefully. “I would like us to be friends.” 

“I am not working for the end of the humanity to make human friends.” 

“Right, so you’ve said. But human friends could work better to put an end to all human friendships, wouldn’t you say?” Hector laughed. He was the only one. Isaac had turned again to look at him, face incredulous. 

“What the fuck are you saying?” 

“Well, I --” 

“Isaac. Hector.” Isaac’s head turned sharply to the sound of Dracula’s voice. Hector did not notice, as he did the same. They were like two dogs who had heard their master’s voice, he thought. Already salivating for a bone or a pat on the head. Some sign that their master loved them and thought of them. 

Dracula appeared at the door of Isaac’s workshop, the darkness gathering around him like a lover. He looked drawn, paler than Hector had ever remembered him being. He wondered when was the last time Dracula had fed. 

“Master,” Hector said, smiling. “Did you hear all that?” 

“Dracula is not interested in our idle chit-chat, Hector,” Isaac assured him. He reached out, a strong brown arm pulsing with health and vitality. And blood. “Do you wish to drink from us?” 

Hector saw Dracula open his mouth a little, his fangs poking against his bottom lip. “Thank you, Isaac, but no. I have already eaten. I came to see how you two found each other.” 

“You haven’t though,” Hector said. “Master, forgive my bluntness. You seem to be starving. If you drink from the both of us, it would be --” 

There was a spark of anger in Dracula’s eye. “Do you presume to know my body’s condition better than I do?” 

“Well, we are experts on dead things,” Isaac murmured. This pulled out a startled laugh from Hector. He would never have expected such boldness from such a seemingly cautious man, but apparently, he had been mistaken. How wonderful. 

But again, Dracula declined their offer. But it seemed clear that it would not be the last time they would offer -- and soon, Dracula would accept them. 

*

In truth, Hector preferred the company of animals to any human -- or any human-shaped entity, such as Dracula. He would wake, with Cezar cuddled on his chest, the little dog pretending to be asleep to better stimulate his past life. Hector would pat him and praise his cleverness and loyalty. If he thought it unlikely that anyone was watching, he would kiss the top of Cezar’s head. 

Dracula's castle was an awe inspiring place, but in terms of fauna, however, there was nothing there but what Hector could make. His night creatures, of course, lacked Cezar’s sweet temper -- but they made up for it with their viciousness and of course, their position in Dracula’s army.

Sometimes, he wondered if they liked it, his creatures -- that he sent them out into the world to tear and kill and murder. It was what they had been built for, cobbled together from dead flesh and magic and Hector’s own will. They were unlike the animals he’d brought back when he was younger, unlike Cezar. Animals, even dead ones, went back to some semblance of life. They tried to hunt, to eat, to play. They tried to live, even when they couldn’t. 

Only the human dead become night creatures, with more power than they had ever had in life. Hector did not see his creatures as twisted or monstrous -- not in the least. They were honest in their spite, clear in their malice. They never had to hide who they were. They simply existed to cleanse the world of such lies. 

Cezar barked as the clock struck noon. He always did, to remind Hector to eat something. Hector sighed. Perhaps he could see if Isaac had something to eat. He couldn’t bear the thought of having pork stew again … 

But even as he thought this, Hector rejected the idea as flawed from the start. Isaac would not welcome his company and would make that plain to Hector. As far as Hector knew, Isaac relished pork stew as he relished anything that was not Dracula or of him -- that was to say, not at all. 

*

Hector had a secret. It was an old secret, going back far into the hazy depths of childhood. He knew the other villagers feared him and pitied his parents, but he didn’t know why. What was so different about him? What was so strange? 

“He's a changeling,” whispered his mother to his father when she thought Hector was sleeping, wrapped up tightly against the chilly winter air. “I tell you, Iason, the devil must have changed him in my womb. There is no other explanation.” 

Hector didn't listen to his father’s reply, trying to soothe his mother’s fears. Instead, he thought of the knife that his father had brought back from the market that day. It was bright and shining and Hector had wanted it. He knew exactly where it was too, and when his parents had fallen asleep, Hector stole out of bed and took it. 

He was not planning to run away. He was only six, after all, and knew that he would need more than a knife to survive. But he had to escape from that house and the crushing feeling of his parents’ fear for a little while. 

The moonlight made wide paths in the snow, avenues which Hector could stride across. Though he was barefoot and had only a thin blanket thrown over his sleeping clothes, Hector no longer felt cold. 

Then, he saw the dog. Half-frozen and sticking out of the snow, he recognized it as one of the neighbor’s dogs, from last year’s litter. He remembered this one well - they had tried to eat his hair and made little whimpers of protest when he moved away. Why had this dog been left out here, to die? Why was he abandoned by those who were meant to take care of him?

Hector kelt down to the corpse and began to cry. He didn't know what else to do. The chill in the air suddenly seemed real again, and bitter. His father's knife clattered out of its hiding place -- hitting a rock and splitting the blade from the handle. 

So it had been a poorly made thing, not worth buying. In frustration, Hector picked up the two halves of the knife and struck them against each other. Now, a strange thing happened, something Hector could not have expected. Bright blue sparks came off the knife parts as he struck it, and so he did it, again and again until he was surrounded by blue light. 

The light engulfed him and the corpse of the dog and Hector closed his eyes for a moment, afraid of being blinded. 

When he opened them again, he felt something licking his fingers. The dog that once been dead in the snow now looked up at him, wagging its tail. Hector stared at it in blank astonishment. Had the dog not been dead after all? Had he been mistaken? 

There were icicles stuck on the dog’s fur, however, and Hector reached out to brush them away before he realized that he himself had also changed. His right hand -- the hand which he had held the knife blade -- now seemed to be that of a skeleton’s. It did not hurt. He could move it easily enough. It was just that his flesh was gone. 

Later, Hector learned that all deep magic required a sacrifice. His right hand had merely the first in a long line of things he'd given up for the sake of magic -- for the sake of a better world. 

But Hector did not know that yet. He only knew that his hand was gone but he all right. He got up from the snow and looked up to the sky. Pale streaks of light stretched across the horizon. It would've dawn soon. He whistled for the dog to follow him as he headed back home. 

When next his mother saw him, she screamed so much that he was forced to do something to cover his hand. Even now, he favored a glove to cover the bones -- not because it would disquiet people otherwise, but because it would interfere with the striking of the hammer. 

Soon, of course, the glove would not be enough. For every creature Hector forged, he would lose a little bit more of his flesh. 

It was a fair bargain, one he would make every time it was asked of him. 

*

It was a rare evening when Isaac agreed to keep Hector company, though neither of them would have put it like that. Only -- they had whittled down the piles of the dead to all the usable parts, and so there was nothing more to do than wait for more. Hector knocked lightly on Isaac’s door and waited. After several minutes, it seemed that Isaac would not answer and he should move on, when he heard a noise from the other side of the door. 

“Come in,” Isaac said and Hector slipped in before he could change his mind. 

“A productive day?” he asked brightly. “How many did you make? I think I came close to a hundred.”

Isaac was reading one of Dracula’s books -- Isaac was a very great reader, while Hector had never really learned -- and took his time finish up the page before he chose to answer. “It isn’t enough. I cannot imagine how we will cleanse the world of humanity with only a hundred new night creatures per day.” 

“I should hope the vampire army would help, but most of the generals seem to be content to command from the back.” 

“They await Dracula’s command. Loyalty, Hector, is a virtue.” 

“I suppose that’s true. They must have built it over however many years. Loyalty to Dracula and to their own kind, I mean. I cannot imagine humans from all over the world working together like this.” 

“Perhaps they work to prevent their own annihilation, but it is far too late for that.” 

“Agreed.” Hector reached out and took the book from Isaac’s hands and examined it. It was a medical text, with pictures carefully flayed human bodies on each page. Dark brown writing covered the margins. “Did this belong to the doctor -- Lisa Tepes?” 

“Yes,” said Isaac. “There is no book here that she seems not to made her mark on.” 

“Do you not think it is strange that man who wants to end all human life should be so -- well, so touched by the ending of one?” 

“He does not see us in the same way as he saw her, if that’s what you’re saying. I would not expect him to.” 

“Not us, and not those beyond these walls who have never heard of Lisa Tepes, and what she wanted to do for Wallachia.” Hector paused and considered. “It is a pity what happened to her. She seemed like a good woman.”

Lisa had been a mother too, of Dracula’s son. Hector doubted she treated her son as his mother had treated him. But she had been murdered too, nonetheless -- it seemed, for human beings, cruelty and death came however good or bad one was. 

Fate was indifferent to virtue. 

“I look like her, a little. From a certain angle -- yes.” There were certainly enough portraits of Lisa in the rooms that Dracula inhabited that Hector could easily draw the comparison. There was a definite similarity. Conspiratorially, he asked Isaac, “Do you think he would sleep with me and feel a little relief from it?” 

Isaac gave him a disbelieving glare. “Hector, you are …” 

“Have I gone too far?” 

“Yes. I don't think our master will sleep with you because you remind him of his dead wife.” 

“I'm only trying to offer a solution.” 

“Such a solution would be to ignore everything one knows about human beings.” 

Hector stared at Isaac blankly for a moment before he shrugged. “Perhaps you're right. But you know -- Sometimes I feel so restless that I could crawl out of my skin. Before, I would visit some boy in town and wile away an hour or two with him, but that’s impossible now. I suppose you never want it -- do you?” 

“I’m still thinking of what you just said --” 

“Come on. It’s not incestuous, Isaac, we aren’t related.” 

“You're fucked in the head.” 

“They always say that. Yes, I am. But you want him, don't you? Even though you know you won't ever have him. Doesn't that make you fucked too?” 

Isaac regarded him with angry, narrowed eyes. He was breathing hard, pressed against Hector, furious and yet -- 

He kissed Isaac then. Hard against his lips, hard enough to bruise. He had judged the time rightly. Isaac did not push him away. He merely looked at him, his dark eyes filled with more questions than desire. His lips were beautiful, Hector thought. Perfect to kiss. 

But Isaac twisted his mouth into a frown and said, “I’m not for you, Hector.” 

“I know, I know. I want him too. I wouldn't have come so far if I didn't think I could have just a sliver of him, a touch. The whole world could die for his satisfaction and I would be happy to support it. I believe him and love him. And you love him as I love him. I know. We want him so badly, but --” 

Hector pressed his mouth against Isaac’s ear, breathed in deeply so Isaac could not feel how wildly his heart was beating. “We can only bring him to us if we work together. Isn’t that what he wants, most of all?” 

“You’re a manipulative swine when you want to be,” Isaac said coldly. But he did not move away and what was more --

Touch was a strange sense -- the absence of it wasn’t as immediate as with sight or hearing, but Hector had heard told stories of people dying to be touched and he believed it. He wanted to touch Isaac, and wanted Isaac to touch him. It didn’t matter what for. He told himself it didn’t matter what for. 

He stripped Isaac quickly from his clothes -- pausing only to remove the cilice carefully -- and pulled him to his bed. Isaac’s bed offered only a modicum of comfort to its inmate -- it was as Spartan as the rest of Isaac’s belongings. He could have as comfortable a bed as could be imagined, but Isaac had no use for such things. 

He slid down to the floor -- it was more comfortable than the bed, and nudged Isaac’s legs apart. Despite their tumble together, it took some time to bring Isaac to hardness -- he didn’t seem to appreciate Hector’s gloved hand on his cock, so Hector used the other one, which took longer. Hector’s own cock ached at the lack of touch and though he'd been fully intending to suck Isaac’s cock, he was persuaded to to change his mind again. 

Hector raised him up so he was kneeling on the bed while Isaac sat under him. Their cocks lined up together, the slickness from Isaac’s cock better lubricating Hector’s. Isaac reached out and gripped Hector’s thigh, hard. Enough to leave a mark. 

Neither of them have done this for long time and so it was clear they wouldn't last long. But still, it was with a modicum of surprise that Hector came first, and then Isaac. Hector brought away a palmful of come in his hand, watching Isaac the entire time. His focus was so great that he was started by the sound at Isaac’s door. 

“I am glad you two are finally getting along,” Dracula said dryly. His face was a pale cameo against the dark. He looked less put out than could be expected at seeing his underlings about to commit fornication. 

Hector blinked. “Master,” he said slowly, trying to collect his thoughts. “Is it only blood you can feed on, or does come work as well? I'm very curious.” Under him, Isaac groaned and Hector covered his mouth before he could protest. 

“Isaac wants it too.” He uncovered Isaac’s mouth but Isaac only glared at him. 

“For me to eat your come?” Dracula sounded -- not angry, but perhaps a little amused. 

“No, sorry, that was a grotesque offer. Rather, drink from us -- drink our blood. You need strength for the assembly of generals tomorrow.” 

“Otherwise you may fall asleep in the middle of Godbrand’s rants,” Isaac said, pushing Hector off him and reaching out to Dracula. This time, Dracula took his hand. 

“Even you, Isaac, feel this way?” 

“Even he does,” Hector echoed. 

“I would not mind it, if it is acceptable to you, Dracula,” Isaac said. His voice was steady and his manner indifferent. If Hector was not as close to him as he was, he would have not picked up on the flush of Isaac’s cheeks, nor the way his eyes followed progress of Dracula across the room. 

Hector watched Isaac watch Dracula -- even to someone as resistant to symbolism as Hector was, the meaning behind it was painfully clear. That was how it would be, then. He would chase Isaac while Isaac chased their master. 

Well. At least he wasn’t cut out of it altogether. Hector had always been a practical man, despite appearances. 

*

The way Dracula drank couldn’t be described in words -- at least, Hector couldn’t do it. Of course, no other vampire would dare lay hands on one of Dracula’s forgemasters, and thus he had nothing else to compare it to -- but all the same, it could not be the same, between Dracula, the Prince of Darkness himself, and some bloated corpse with fangs. 

It only stood to reason. Hector watched as Dracula fed from Isaac first, his cape almost covering him. Hector’s hand was slapped when he tried to touch them, but then Dracula pushed a gentle hand through his hair, like comforting a small child. 

A traditionalist, Dracula drank from the neck. He pulled away far sooner than Hector was expecting, but not before his bottom lip was stained scarlet with blood. There must be a neater way to drink blood, Hector thought, though he did not share this insight with his companions. Perhaps later. 

Isaac looked only slightly ruffled when Dracula pulled away, his neck still bleeding. He reached for it, but Dracula stopped him. “It will clot sooner if you do not touch it.” 

“Do you always drink from the neck?” Hector asked him. “Are other places more difficult to reach?” 

“The neck, the wrist and the thigh are the most common places,” Dracula told him, delicately cleaning his face of all signs of blood. He drew Hector to him, enveloping him in the darkness so much so that Hector was uncertain at where his body ended and his cape began. Perhaps there was no set point. Dracula’s voice came all around him, asking, “Do you will for me to drink in a different place, Hector?” 

Hector took this opportunity to unlace his glove and show the both of them his right arm. “Can’t use this one, I’m afraid,” he said cheerfully. 

After a short silence, Dracula withdrew from him -- to look at Hector’s arm better. He said, “That’s very interesting, Hector, has it always been like this?”

Isaac took Hector’s arm and began to examine it, tracing a delicate finger down the shaft of the humerus and then up the ulna. 

“Do you feel it?” Isaac asked him. 

“It’s the same feeling as my left arm,” Hector told them. “Only the flesh … is gone.” 

“I have heard this happens to forgemaster who have not trained under a knowledgeable master,” Isaac said.

“I’m afraid I was a natural talent,” Hector said. “No one trained me in anything. But Isaac, who trained you?” 

Isaac and Dracula exchanged glances. 

“That’s for another time,” Isaac told him. Hector nodded -- it made sense -- and offered Dracula his other wrist. Dracula bit into it with hardly any ceremony, proving that he had truly been starving. 

After the initial prick, Hector felt nothing but narcotic pleasure of blood leaving his body and of Dracula’s attention -- all of it, and all of it overwhelming and addicting. When he pulled away, Hector followed him, thrusting his bloody wrist forward, petulantly. “You need more.”

“Do not presume to tell me what I need, Hector,” Dracula said. He smiled, Hector’s blood staining his teeth. 

“Dracula,” Isaac said. His voice seemed … forlorn. “Will you leave us now?” 

Hector reached out and kissed him. It was presumptuous, but Isaac didn’t push him away. Instead, he hooked his arm around Hector’s waist and they both waited for Dracula’s answer. 

“I do not need to, just yet. Why don’t you two occupy each other?” Dracula drew back, hovering a little above the bed. Hector found himself wondering why Isaac hadn’t thought of of installing a high backed armchair for Dracula to sit in. Perhaps he hadn’t thought there would ever be an occasion for it. How wrong he was. 

But Hector needn’t have worried. Apparently summoning supernaturally pointy chairs was part of Dracula’s vast and unknowable powers. It appeared at the end of Isaac’s bed, all plush velvet and dark mahogany. Dracula seated himself and gestured for them to continue. 

“Do you want to --?” Hector said, feeling unaccountably nervous. He thought he could do it -- fuck Isaac, he was positive that -- it was possible to do it, Isaac was human, after all -- he definitely had a cock and presumably had a hole. 

“I’ll do it,” Isaac said. 

“Thank you,” Hector said quickly. He let Isaac lead him to position, aware that every angle had to be considered, to give their master the best view. “So, do you prefer any dialogue? 'Isaac, let me be your sacrificial lamb' and so on?” 

“I don’t prefer it,” Isaac said, pulling Hector up so he was on his hands and knees, facing away from Dracula. 

“Ah, now I’m sure I'm not the favorite,” Hector muttered, as he felt Isaac beginning to work on his hole. 

“Hush, Hector,” Dracula said and Hector subsided. 

It had been a while since he’d been in this situation and, frankly, he was already starting to ache. Perhaps Dracula had taken more blood from him than he’d thought. He felt something slick and wet against his ass, and Isaac’s blunt fingers probing inside him. He wanted to Isaac’s cock already, but thought better than to instigate further. 

Instead, he asked, “Where did you get the oil?” 

“I had it around.” 

“For nights of frustration, eh?” 

“Listen to your master, Hector.” 

Hector barked and received a slap on his ass for his troubles. It might have been annoyance that made Isaac hurry up the process, or perhaps Hector was ready, but soon enough, Hector felt the tip of Isaac’s cock on his rim and he had no time to think of anything else that could further annoy those who he wanted the most. 

He forgot that Dracula was watching. The reason they were doing it -- the only reason -- and he forgot. Instead, he focused on the feeling of Isaac’s cock inside him, the burn of it, the pressure. It was long and Isaac, despite his elaborate disinterest, certainly knew how to use it. 

Hector trembled and sighed, his arms aching and his legs growing numb. He wouldn’t complain though. He was a man, after all. Instead, he tried thinking of nothing, listening to Isaac’s pants behind him and sound of their breathing together. Not in tandem, but -- together. 

And the utter silence at the end of the bed, where Dracula watched. 

“Isaac,” he moaned as Isaac thrust into him, hard and Isaac seemed to know what he meant. He pulled Hector up until they were both kneeling and twisted them so that Hector could catch sight of Dracula. 

Dracula’s eyes were bright red and his fangs were out. 

“Are you enjoying the sight, master?” Hector asked. Isaac bit into to the soft meat of Hector’s shoulder and began to stroke Hector’s cock until he was teetering on the edge of coming. 

“Does it please you, Dracula?” Isaac said, his voice heavy with desire. 

“Very much,” Dracula said. “You two have satisfied me in every way.” 

Hector took Isaac’s momentary distraction to pull him down and climb on his cock, riding him to oblivion. He looked up to see if Dracula was still there, but when he saw nothing, it wasn’t so terrible. 

Before Isaac knew it, Hector kissed him again, biting into his plush lower lip hard enough to taste blood. In this, he was merely fulfilling his master’s desire, after all. 

*

After they had left Carmilla’s castle in Styria a burning wreck, astride a winged night creature of gigantic proportions, Hector asked Isaac the obvious question: “What are you going to do with me?” 

“What do you think I should do?” 

“You’ve already made up your mind, nothing I can say or do would change it.” 

Isaac said nothing. Hector knew he was right. 

“If I gave you a chance -- to redeem yourself -- what would you do?” 

“I would slit Alucard’s throat, drink his blood and get my dog back.” 

“Good,” Isaac said. “Welcome back, Hector.” 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title means hands and knees in French. :))))))
> 
> What I listened to when writing: [The Width of a Circle - David Bowie](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s2L4hL2IvUk)


End file.
